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Thursday, September 27, 2012

Well, I am super excited to announce that I was asked to guest write a post at a parenting website, Humpty Dumpty Parent, and I accepted the offer. I have never guest-written before and so this was exciting and, quite frankly, totally nerve-wracking because I really don't know the audience I'm appearing in front of and let's be honest: I'm not exactly couth, classy, and PG.

However, I am capable of writing without swearing and being irreverent; I just choose not to, for the most part, on my personal blog. So, for this guest post, I decided to *try* to keep the humor but lose the profanity and horror. And push the heart that I posses - but don't always show - for others to the forefront.

Monday, September 24, 2012

Have you ever heard one of those stories about a pregnant woman who goes in for the gender reveal ultrasound, only to discover that her baby has its legs crossed, is passed the hell out, and will not wake up and move around for the WORLD? And not even a couple of jabs to the kidney will rouse that kid into opening its legs? (The only time you will actually WANT your kid to open its legs . . .)

I have, from people I actually know, nonetheless. So it's not just one of those "happened to my brother's friend's cousin's sister-in-law's sister" kind of thing, it has happened to people known to me and therefore, it was just like it happened to ME.

Okay, not really, but I did feel the gut-punch for them because had it been me, I would have lost my shit and probably told my OB/GYN to reach his hands all up in there and FORCE that kid's legs open. Not that he would have, but clearly, I wanted to know whether or not I was having a son or a daughter, each and every pregnancy. AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. And it would have killed me not to be able to find out when I thought I was going to.

So when pregnant with my first, I heard this tip from some earthly angel - sadly, I don't even remember who - and it was gold. No, GOLD. (See what I did there? I dorked out.)

Just before your ultrasound appointment, drink some orange juice and slam a candy bar to infuse mad amounts of sugar into your bloodstream and kickstart that little beast into basically doing JUMPING JACKS in your womb.

Or just inject a cup of sugar into your veins. Whatever.I did that (drank o.j. and ate candy, not the injection) in the waiting room before each and every gender-reveal ultrasound and my boys were so excited to show us their balls that they basically wrapped their ankles around their ears and SAT on the camera. Well, except for Brandon. Due to the test results we got early in pregnancy, his chromosomes were tested, so we knew for a fact that he's a boy at 14 weeks along.

Although, in my particular cases, I was SO HYPED UP before each appointment that my nerves and adrenaline alone were probably enough to jolt the boys into doing gymnastics. In the waiting room, I was literally climbing the walls and kept punching Nate while rapidly asking him 95 times in a row "What'sitgonnabewhat'sitgonnabe?" and "Whatifit'sagirl?Whatifit'saboy?" like a total crack addict.

I'm pretty sure the medical assistant took us back early to save his life. Or probably more accurately, my life. Good luck, and to healthy babies all around. *Lifting a sippy cup in salute. A sippy cup filled with vodka.*

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In an entirely unrelated note, what do you think of the new changes to the look of the blog? I apologize for the schizophrenic changes, but I'm trying to find my final (hopefully) look. I really would appreciate feedback, as I see other blogs with weird font that I can hardly read or weird background vs. font color that makes it excruciatingly painful to read. And therefore, I usually don't bother reading them lest the visual trauma causes me to want to STAB SOMEBODY.But I never know if it's okay to say to them, "Hey your blog design makes my EYES BLEED" so I want you to know that I really do appreciate (and am asking for) constructive feedback. The half-dead looking palm trees and sunset in my background are supposed to have a calming effect as an antidote against the insanity that children life can cause. Plus, they represent my California beach life . . . spent cooped up in our house because I'm half-terrified to take the boys anywhere unless I have reinforcements, a.k.a. either their dad or "my wife" (great friend) with me. So they're symbolic but I am open to suggestions. And yes, I am still working on a header photo. I just don't know what to do for it. Open to suggestions there, too.

Thursday, September 13, 2012

A while back, I wrote this post about the funny and inappropriate mispronunciations kids make. Recently, I posted on Facebook that Brandon is now saying "pepper" but it comes out "pecker." Because I have such awesome people who have liked the Facebook page for this blog, they came out in force with their own examples, and I would like to share them with you because they are just totally, inappropriately, funny.

So stop reading here if you are opposed to strong language (KIDS THESE DAYS . . .). Or better yet, just pull out the 12-year-old inside of you and giggle away... here are their stories (some are condensed or paraphrased by me):

My nephew used to say Fucky Fried Chicken.

My son's funny one is dump truck, he doesn't pronounce the p and replaces the t with an f. Dump truck = dum fuck.

Don't ask my son to say frog... he starts hopping around on the floor and I swear it sounds like he's dropping f-bombs!I have a video of my friend's son saying "frog" but it sounds like he's dropping f-bombs!

My niece would replace the "tr" in truck with an "f". One day at dinner a truck drove by the restaurant window with bunnies on it and she screamed at the top of her lungs, "bunny fuck, bunny fuck!"

My mom was in the store with my brother when he was little, and he started screaming, "I want Reese's Penis, I want Reese's Penis." She bought him the Reese's Pieces.

My boy loves saying "clock" but really struggles with the "L" part of it. ~Courtesy of Jason Good.My 3-year-old daughter's most inappropriate mispronunciation is clock = cock. She even refers to my watch as a "cock", which was particularly embarrassing when she was admiring my "cock" in the grocery store the other day.

We were at a ball game and my 3-year-old daughter was eating peanuts, and announced to the entire section that she "loves peanus."My 15-month-old is learning new words practically every day and right now "kitten" is "DICKEN!" She's so proud of herself when she knows a correct word that she squeals it out at the top of her lungs. ~Courtesy of Rabitstew.My daughter says "what's that" but at 11 months it sounds like "shit". Took us a while to figure it out.Vagina is "PaChina" or "Bajiner." ~ Courtesy of Aums Mama.(Elizabeth here - I'm TOTALLY going to start saying bajiner. I LOVE that one! I'm super mature . . .)My kids at 22 or so months would say "Boobies" for "blueberries" and "shit" for "shirt." My daughter still says "penis" for peanuts. And always seems to say it loudly in restaurants. "I want penis! Give me penis!" ~Courtesy of Eating for 3.My daughter would say "cock" instead of "truck." We went to a Touch a Truck event - it was hilarious!My nephew (or maybe it was my niece) used to say Chick For Lay. "Merry Pissmas" for two years with my middle one! And when we would leave Uncle Phil and Uncle Chuck's house, he would yell, "Bye Fool! Bye Fuck!" ~Courtesy of So Much for The Mother of The Year Award.My son says "stick" and it sounds like "dick." Today he told me he was going to poke me with a big stick . . . I definitely made him say it again so I could get it on video!(This is my kind of mom!)My grandson (4) says "dicks" for "discs" - he wanted to play a game and said to his mom, "open dat door, I need dicks to play with." When she opened the cabinet he saw all the games and movies and told her, "wow Mom, you have a lot of dicks, don't you?" He also calls his scooter a "cooter", as in, I'm going to go ride my cooter." I guess that mainly happens when he's not inside playing with his dicks!(I love this grandma!)~And here are some stories that people shared:Our 4-year-old daughter was trying to say what she saw in the backyard at her grandmother's house, "Daddy, we saw a peter in Granny's backyard, and it was black." (Parents trying to keep composure) "You know, it was hairy, too." Mom: "You mean a caterpillar?" Daughter: "YEAH!"

When my son was about 4 I would take him into the bathroom stall with me because he was a runner... he's also very attuned to smells. The lady next door to us happened to emit a smell. Shane was nice enough to say loudly... with glee... "Mom that REALLY STINKS!"So my little guy's isn't quite as inappropriate as it is adorable: he loves his ukulele but he calls it his "you-ka-way-gay." Every time I think about it, I smile.

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So I hope you got a laugh! Since, you know, that was the point. Until next time, enjoy your peanus, watch out for those dum fucks, and keep looking at your cocks so you're not late.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Take a napkin from the napkin holder, and there's a 50/50 chance it was one that Brandon used and graciously put back where he found it.

Let your crawler crawl on our kitchen/dining room floor, their hands and knees will be a blackish-gray, even though we'd probably mopped just prior to your arrival. You'll also step in something sticky. At least twice.

Go to the bathroom, you'll smell and most likely step in pee, even though I cleaned the toilet (and Brandon probably helped by licking it) just prior to your arrival.

Saturday, September 8, 2012

About six months ago, I wrote about Brandon's speaking deficiency, as in, he was 18 months old and said like, one word. Definitely behind the curve but I wasn't too worried about it for a variety of reasons, and neither was his pediatrician, for the same reasons plus a couple more. (Click on the link above and you can read the older post, newer readers.) She (his pediatrician) gave me some good info to help him along (that I passed on in the post), and while I didn't really apply the things she told me with rabid passion, I did work with him once a month here and there. Then, we were going to reevaluate when Brandon turned two to see if further testing/work/witchcraft/rain dancing needed to be done to get the kid to start talking.

Well, Brandon turned two recently and had his well-child visit yesterday. I told her that he had his predicted sudden language explosion (talked about in the other post) and was now saying words like "diarrhea" and even stringing two or more words together, like "eat pecker." However, his pronunciation is a tad off and so words like "pepper" come out as "pecker," and that's totally normal - as any of you with kids have experienced.

So anyway, I just wanted to update you since I know you couldn't care less and probably forgot about it were all crushed with worry and fear for my little guy, and have been waiting with baited breath to see if he was going to be fine by the time he turned two.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Last week I was a little under the weather as you may have read. It was fun, as it always is with small kids. After a morning spent cooping the younger two up inside, in full neglect mode in front of the t.v., when Ethan came home from school I figured I would take them outside to the backyard. I mean, I can sit in a lawn chair just as well as I can sit on the couch, right?

Well, that lasted about five minutes. Connor got a sliver in the heel of his foot. And not just any sliver, a BIG ASS sliver. A good half an inch long, nice and wide, and buried deep.

YEAH. Of course, he is crying his face off and screaming that it hurts.

Well, kid, I hate to break it to you, but it's about to get a whole lot worse.

I reminded him on our walk back into the house that this is why he is not supposed to be outside without his shoes on. He had been wearing them, but went back in the house, took them off, and came back outside without them and immediately got a sliver. Now, if we didn't have the deck that we did, it would make perfect sense for little boys to be playing outside without their shoes on, but our deck is a sliver nightmare. So therefore we have this rule about shoes. And he broke it. And you know how you feel differently about a kid's injury when they received it while rule breaking? Like, when they are climbing on something they know they are not supposed to be climbing on and they get hurt and it's like, "Oh hell no, I don't feel sorry for you, I'VE TOLD YOU NOT TO CLIMB ON THAT!" But if they had been doing something legitimate and got hurt in exactly the same way, all of the sympathy comes pouring out?

Or am I the only asshole that feels that way?

So, in other words, I was mad. We got into the house, my anger building that this even happened in the first place, and he was still screaming and crying and snotting everywhere. I set him on the bathroom counter, washed his foot, and put some teething gel on the spot to numb the pain as best as possible (did you know about that?) while I grabbed all the sliver-removal surgical tools: a needle and tweezers. I sanitized them with rubbing alcohol and as soon as Connor saw me heading towards his foot with the needle, he literally started shrieking at the top of his lungs.

I put the needle down and closed the bathroom window. Clearly, this was going to get ugly. We have neighbors. And please don't be alarmed at my foresight to close the window to contain my kid's screams. I swear we don't abuse them and know all the tricks to "hide" it. It's just that when, while in my house, I've heard the neighbor girl, while standing in their bathroom with the window open say, "Oh, so-and-so, the toilet smells GOOD!" (I'm dead serious. And so was she.) I know that sound travels well.

So, window closed, I resumed surgery. I hate digging out slivers. It makes me nauseous. I can read bloody murder novel after bloody murder novel and not even bat an eye, but digging out a sliver makes me nauseous. And that fucker was buried deep and I couldn't even tell which end was the entry point. I started digging up one end and Connor was ten inches from my ear and shrieking like he's being scalped and trying to pull his foot away. I was starting to sweat. Progress was not being made. I gripped his foot a little tighter, dug a little more, and thinking the whole time, if only he had put on his fucking shoes.... uuuuggghhh. It could not have gotten any worse.

Then he started screaming, "YOU'RE HURTING ME, MAMA! YOU'RE HURTING MEEEE!"At the top of his lungs.

Over and over and over.

Okay, it just got worse. Thankful that I shut the window, but still figuring that the cops were being called right then, I started sweating more and tried digging at the other end to see if I could pop the sliver out of that end. No go, so I went back to the other end and finally got the tip revealed enough that maybe I could get a grip with the tweezers. Nope. So I had to dig more, and I was sweating profusely while my stomach was churning, churning, churning, and Connor was shaking and crying and screaming that I'm hurting him over and over and I was wondering if he was just going to finally pass out to make this all easier and also was wondering if I would actually be capable of hearing the knock from the police over his shrieks or if they'd just end up busting down the door and tackling me to the ground, when Ethan showed up in the doorway and asked the life-saving, sliver-removing, light-coming-through-the-parting-clouds-while-angels-are-singing question.

"Mom, can we play Sack-Boy?"

Are you fucking kidding me, kid? "Sack Boy" is a video game. We're going through this and Ethan is casually asking, over his brother's bloody-murder shrieks and my dry-heaves, ifhe can play a video game? I gave him the nastiest, hairiest hairy-eyeballed, stinkiest stink-eyed look I could muster and went back to the surgery. I was pushing my fingernail in at one end, trying to birth the sliver out of the opening I had dug and grasping the other end with the tweezers and it just wasn't working. Over and over I tried, to no avail. It was getting dire. I was starting to go deaf in the ear closest to Connor, was on the verge of throwing up, and screaming inside my own head, WHY DIDN'T YOU WEAR YOUR FUCKING SHOES, CONNOR? when suddenly, I got a good enough grip and the damn sliver came out.Jesus.As soon as it was out, silenced immediately commenced. At first, I thought I had gone deaf, then I realized that Connor had just stopped screaming and shrieking. Shakily, I wiped my forehead, swallowed down the last of the nausea slobber, put Neosporin and a band-aid on his foot, and put away all the surgical tools. Hey. Connor. Wear your shoes next time.